


Death’s Son

by giuh_t



Category: Original Work
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:35:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27654907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giuh_t/pseuds/giuh_t
Summary: ”Dear brother,I imagine how you must be right now - besides from five feet under the ground, of course. I ask myself if you’d laugh, had you been here while I wrote down this joke. Sorry in advance for acting childishly after ten years of the day I killed you, I don’t think there’s even an acknowledgeable time to say it’s all right to make fun of your brother’s death . Mom was right to say that you, among all four of us, had always been the most polite. The only one capable of being respected in this awful world in which we woke up one day from our mom’s intimate parts. I wonder if, the day she conceived me, she stared down at the fat baby with sapphire eyes and saw the monstrous things I were to do as a man.”





	Death’s Son

Dear brother,   
I imagine how you must be right now - besides from five feet under the ground, of course. I ask myself if you'd laugh, had you been here while I wrote down this joke. Sorry in advance for acting childishly after ten years of the day I killed you, I don't think there's even an acknowledgeable time to say it's all right to make fun of your brother's death. Mom was right to say that you, among all four of us, had always been the most polite. The only one capable of being respected in this awful world in which we woke up one day from our mom's intimate parts. I wonder if, the day she conceived me, she stared down at the fat baby with sapphire eyes and saw the monstrous things I were to do as a man. 

Wouldn't surprise me if you have no intention of continuing reading this letter. You weren't my first choice either, and if I had had the chance I would've written to someone actually capable of receiving this. But I have no one to talk to, I've become a lonely man, and the matter I'm about to tell you in this letter can only belong to the dead. 

I remember that day as if it were yesterday.

Your blood in my hands, the same running through my veins and tasting metallic in my mouth, felt like a bitter victory to me. Looking back I realize that as a kid who merely had all his teeth in his mouth, I should've experienced some sort of terror at the view of a dead man in front of me - I just stood there, asking myself what now?   
Maybe that question, repeating over and over in my head, was what caught Their attention to me. 

I met evil when I was only a child. 

At first, Their figure did not catch my attention. Stupid boy, if I had only realized that I was under a god's gaze... I would've run away while I could. Not that it would've changed something. 

"A little loss of innocence...." Their voice echoed in my head, as the person in the mirror smiled. They smiled. I can't remember any other time I saw Them doing so, after all these years, "why would you do that, young boy?"

"I was.... angry," I suppose that was the best answer my brain could've given back then. You can't really talk about morals at that age, can you?

"Tsc, tsc," their laugh made me tremble, but I wasn't scared, "anger makes you stupid. Stupid gets you killed."

"But I'm not the one dead here."

You know, brother mine, sometimes I still relive that night in my head. They never told me why I was chosen - blame fate, They'd say, not even all those years of blind loyalty. Maybe I was easy prey, maybe it was all about a roll in the dices. Either way, that evening, I left our home as an assassin. A god's assassin. 

"Are you afraid of dying?" They'd ask me, shadows dancing around the room and over your dead body.

"Are you going to kill me?" And obviously, as a kid, I'd always answer them with a question. Got to admit that that went on for a few years still.

"Dying is easy, boy," They'd say, "I need someone," Their necessity caressed my ego like a mother soothing her baby, "to kill for me."

Do you think uncle John would've called the priest if he had ever witnessed such a scene? Writing it down for you now, brother mine, I realize how theatrical tragedy can be portrayed sometimes. Perhaps that's why mom always liked reading dramatic books - the pain in the plot would distract her from the pain caused by the scars left on her by our beloved dad. May both of them rest in peace.  
I suppose that, if our lives had been written down and sold to the people by a publishing house, your book would easily outsell mine. Everybody prefers a comic fantasy book rather than a grey horror, don't you think?  
Though now, I'm the one breathing through my lungs and walking on earth, so that says a lot. 

But before I get caught up on past resentment -you know me, I always had a hard time getting over being the black sheep under your shadow in the family- let me continue my story. I fear I don't have a lot of time left. 

The younger version of your favorite brother, me of course, didn't get bothered at first by the task in question being implied by the dangerous figure talking to me in our parent's room. Instead, I remember just disliking the fact of being ordered around and having to obey another person other than my father. If Death ever had a skin, I would say that that night, I for sure got under it. 

"I don't want to kill more people, for you." 

"Don't defy a god, boy, and do as I say," I recall feeling Their touch on my neck at that moment, "you'll kill. And you'll live. Your heart will tell you how and when."

"For how long?" And that was the only question They never answered me. 

From that point on, my life took a funny turn. Intriguing, as you'd say, with all your sophisticated terms and sense of superiority - excuse me if all I have to use as a way of telling you this story is my ignorant vocabulary. I could say that your death changed my life, which it did, but I'm thanking you. Not yet. Not before tonight. 

When arguing with Death, in all my adolescence rebellion and lack of respect, I'd often realize too late that there's no point having arguments with a god, especially because of their -obvious- god complex: 

"You're a monster," they'd hiss, "going back to your normal life is useless now!"

Times like these, I'd laugh and say:

"Better a monster, than an arrogant god."

We had our differences, but with Time, a close friend of Theirs, we learned to work together... which sounds horrible to you, given that the worst sin you might have ever committed was opening your eyes while they prayed at church. For the rest of us, dear brother, survival often involves the destruction of your morals and identity.   
I have to say, the only thing that kept my mind in place sometimes were the memories of the times we spent together when the world would go quiet and nothing seemed to have bad intentions towards us. Do you remember those times, Arthur?

I would kill every single day, brother, but on Sundays, where I'd usually attend the funerals. I liked to think that those lives hadn't been taken by me, but by a bigger force. Someone too much of a coward to go down themselves and slide a knife on people's throats. I wouldn't blame you if you hated Them. I used to, as well.   
But like I said, we had a bond. Trust. Dependence. That thin line kept me alive and kept him satisfied - Their hands were scarred from murder, and yet, I trusted Them completely. Years ago, when I was nothing but a scared guilty boy, They gave me a purpose, a condition. They saw me. A weapon? A monster? A child.   
I am a result of Death, and still, I don't feel in control sometimes. 

Would you still call me your brother now, dear brother?

Today is my birthday. I suppose. Mama never cared about formalities, or the day she got rid of one of us from her corpulent body. I smoked a cigarette and had a cookie... the ones we used to take from aunt Jane's mason jar... only that they're not the original ones. I am living in New York now. I think you'd like the place, they have trains and even a new program that has young boys biking around and throwing the daily paper at you. Americans, you would have gotten along with them...

How many funerals can someone attend before they turn twenty? Yesterday I visited an old church by a beautiful lake, hugged the family and left. I used to keep count of how my families I'd destroy, but there's only so much you can do before drowning yourself in shame and guilt. Yet, I am still here. Alive. I wish that I could say I am a light bulb that never goes out, but I flicker from time to time. I've done so recently.  
That's why I come to admit, I am writing you this letter.

Brother, I fear that soon, we'll be reencountering. 

My hands tremble as I write this, not because of my vicious nicotine addiction. I am afraid, you know? Afraid of Death. Afraid of my employer, my confident, my only friend. We haven't met in a few years now, but I know they will come - I can feel it because I called them. Maybe, after I finish this letter, it will be too late.

I've met someone.

It's like the first ray of light breaking through heavy thunderstorms after the storm. The soft heat caressing the pale skin and comforting those who lost so much in the rain. After so long doing horrible things, I did not see myself merciful of such sentiment - love. Makes me smile just to write this word down.   
I'll spare you from my biased words, but brother, you might know what I am talking about. You had your Diana once. I almost had her, too. 

In my life, I have only ever fallen twice. Once with an opposite and once with a mirror. It would have been so neat for one to follow the other, but like many things, in life, they came close together. I can only ever be with one, give one my heart, body, and soul. So though both were precious gifts, one brought joy and the other pain. 

To the one I give myself to, I place my all in their hands. I give them the power to save me or destroy me. With perfect love comes perfect trust and the knowledge that should my love wish me gone, I would raise no hand in defense.

She makes me want to stop being this... ghost. She knows so little but cares so much, it's almost impossible not to wish to redeem myself and become the idea of man she has of me. But I've made a deal with the devil, and I'm tied to a leash. 

My betrayal will sit heavy on their heart - assuming they have one. Falling in love, and not only, but wanting to live a normal life, is what made Death so corrupted and dark. I've come to realize this too late, you know? We all fall in love with life at some point, we run away from the eternal sleeping and starve Death until they have no choice but to steal our bodies from living. Death is a strict mother that tells you to eat your vegetables because she knows what's best, whilst we are the rebellious children ignoring her cares to be seduced by a fake joyful reality. I suppose you understand that now, brother. 

I'll leave this note, not with a goodbye, but with a see you soon. Unfortunately, I've fallen and only maybe will have Their mercy. Only maybe I'll get some rest. Only maybe I'll be human and love, brother mine. I've done so much damage that I don't expect anything good from life, but I've always been a dreamer. And a monster. And a child. And an assassin. 

Wish me luck, brother,  
I promise not to kill you in the next life,  
Truly yours,  
Death's son.

**Author's Note:**

> This is it! I hope you enjoyed reading this (very) short-story. I am particularly attached to this one. The narrators perspective can lead to multiple interpretations of the story’s reality, like whether or not it is about a mystical world or just a coping mechanism as a result of mania :). Feel free to share your ideas on the comments, leave a comment or just chat! Thank you for reading.


End file.
